


The Paradox

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Series: Not the Final Act [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actor, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cancer, Confessions of love, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, M/M, Major Illness, Pre-Triumvirate, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: As Jim's surgery looms ahead, Leonard finds himself caring for Jim but in a far different capacity than he had before. At least Chris was hiring a new bodyguard to take his place.Because for Leonard, at the end of the day, a protected Jim was what mattered the most.At all costs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the sequel to The Return. I do hope you enjoy it, though this particular part is a little heavy on angst and h/c.
> 
> My warning(s) and glossary of Swahili-English terms are in the end notes this time. I put the glossary at the end because of my own personal preference. I like to try to figure things out myself, from context clues, without it being 'spoiled.' :) If it's awkward for you, I apologize!
> 
> I'm taking a different path with Geoffrey M'Benga in this than what I've seen in other works. For one, I have put a "face" to him for this story: Djimon Hounsou, actor. Also in this fic, M'Benga has an African accent, and hopefully I've approached it in a fresh way so you can "hear" it naturally as you read. Crossing my fingers that it is, anyway!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

 

They met halfway up the winding staircase in Jim’s house, Janice Rand nearly colliding with his chest.

“What’s wrong?” McCoy asked, gripping her arms to steady her.

Her hand shook as she brushed a strand of hair away from her ashen face. A far cry from Jim’s normally even-keeled personal assistant.

He peered at her in concern when she didn't answer. “Is it Jim?”

He’d only been gone from Jim’s side three minutes, but anything could have happened during that time.

That very morning, while he’d had his back to him, Jim had suffered from a seizure—his first one—leaving him mostly paralyzed on his left side.

“You could say that,” she said, voice quaking.

And with that, his stomach filled with knots.

“Is this about his blindness? The paralysis? Are you uncomfortable with these things? Janice, you do know that this paralysis is temporary,” he all but pleaded. He'd already explained it to her. Several times, in fact. “He won’t look like that forever.”

Looking at Jim was difficult; even McCoy couldn’t deny how hard it was. Jim’s gorgeous, blonde locks had been shaved in preparation for the surgery, accentuating his pale, exhaustion-lined face even more, and the side of his mouth drooped so much that it was impossible to feed him without making a bit of a mess; he drooled continuously, one of them having to wipe his mouth for him because Jim lacked the strength to do so for himself.

He truly looked ill, having practically changed into a different person overnight; he couldn’t even speak correctly, his words jumbled, slurring together, but he was still _Jim_. Even if recognizable only by the cerulean blue of his eyes.

“It's a side effect of the seizure,” he reminded her. “It should subside within two days.”

Unless he had another seizure before it subsided. Unless the surgery failed. Unless—

“It’s not that,” she whispered. “I’m not that shallow.”

He dropped his hands, stunned, but also suddenly remembering that her husband was in remission.

“You’re quitting, aren’t you?” he asked, putting two and two together.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “I did tell Jim’s mother, who’s with him right now.”

“We need two weeks, Janice,” he said while willing her to change her mind. There was no way they could train someone in two weeks for this position. Not only that, but Jim would be worried, about both Janice’s emotional health and the stress he caused for her and the open position, the details he did not want to leave unattended while in the hospital. “At the very least.”

These were big shoes to fill, bigger since most of Jim’s appointments and events had to be canceled or indefinitely postponed. And handled with the utmost tact, given the situation.

“I just can’t do this,” Janice said with a dry, throaty laugh, shoving a clipboard at McCoy. “Not again. I took care of everything on his calendar through early next week, b-but that’s all.”

“You have a contract,” he gritted out.

“And now I am breaking it,” she said breathlessly.

Though he knew it was irrational—Jim’s diagnosis hit close to home for her and she was tough but not a well-seasoned nurse or doctor—anger rose in his chest. Who else knew Jim well enough to take over her job? Other than Jim’s mother, or McCoy himself—no one. And they, along with a part-time nurse, were taking care of Jim’s physical needs around the clock before the surgery in two days, leaving little energy in themselves to spare. They would not be able to work through Jim’s other needs with the same care that they required and deserved.

“Take me to court,” she said, swallowing. “If you want. Whatever you want.”

“You know he won’t do that,” McCoy said, his knuckles white as he gripped the clipboard.

Jim avoided lawsuits as much as possible. In fact, several people had walked all over him in the past. He was too kind for his own good.

“I’ll pay what I owe him for this inconvenience even if he doesn’t take me to court,” she said, eyes flashing with determination. “Eventually. But I can’t sit there...a-and watch him go through this. I can’t. Not even for Jim.”

 

 

They stared at each other for all of five additional seconds. But there was nothing else to say. She knew it. So did he.

He set his jaw and moved aside, the weight of Jim’s world resting upon his shoulders and his alone. “Alright.”

He said nothing more to her as she practically raced out of the house. He was disappointed that she’d left, but that feeling quickly faded. She hadn’t even asked to be updated on Jim’s status in the future.

With a calmness that came only because he was headed upstairs to see Jim, the only human being on this earth that he was willing to die for because he loved him that much, he pulled out his phone.

Pike, of all people, with all of his resources and names he threw around, had to know someone who could help and give them a name.

 

.  
.  
.  
.

 

 

_Janice Rand, the very woman who'd done all that she'd could to get this position in the first place, fighting tooth and nail, had just...abandoned her position?_

“She said nothing else before she left?” Chris asked.

McCoy barked out a laugh. “ _No. Not even another word about Jim.”_

“How is he taking it?”

“ _As expected,”_ McCoy said in a low voice. “ _He blames himself. Believes he should have known this would happen and let her go himself before she’d ever decided she had to quit.”_

Of course he did. That’s what Jim does in every situation, shoulder whatever responsibility that he could because he was the actor, the person for whom everyone was working. The leader, if you will.

“I’m not surprised he’s blaming himself. I'll send someone over right away,” Chris said after a short silence, time he needed to comprehend the catastrophe that McCoy had just explained to him.

Rand...leaving...was bad. Very, very bad. Finding someone they could trust to permanently take over that job would be...difficult. But he did know someone who could take the job, at least for now.

“ _You’ll send someone right away?”_ McCoy asked in disbelief. “ _Who the hell do you know that could take her place that’s available on a moment's notice?”_

“A friend,” he said, ignoring the unprofessional outburst. “She's someone who's familiar with the tasks that Rand...forfeited.”

McCoy laughed dryly. “ _Forfeited? She fucking left without giving us so much as a chance to make this right for Jim.”_

 

_Wasn't that basically what McCoy had done to Jim, too?_

He bit his tongue, mostly because of the other figure in the room, listening to his side of the conversation, at least; but also because he knew that McCoy felt guilty enough as it was.

And, finally, because Jim loved him, and though it’d hurt Jim deeply, McCoy had only done what he’d thought was protecting Jim in the long run.

Who was to say he wouldn't have done the same thing to someone he’d once loved and protected years ago?

“You know her,” he added, ignoring what McCoy had just said.

“ _Wait...what?”_

“You’ve already met her. She’ll be at your doorstep within the hour.”

Chris hung up before McCoy could ask for a name, something he wanted him to find out for himself, lest he be forced to answer more questions prematurely. Questions that he had to avoid if his plan to keep Jim safe was to work. Questions like who was ultimately out to hurt Jim. But he didn’t believe that the crazed fans were behind the attempts on his son’s life, as much as the police thought they were. In fact, he had reason to believe that the fans weren’t really fans at all.

He did feel guilty for keeping McCoy in the dark, though, but like a few other unpleasant matters of this business, it was necessary. Jim would be able to sense something wasn’t right with Leonard, if Leonard knew the truth of the situation and was worried _because_ he knew. Keeping McCoy in the dark simply meant that his son was as relaxed as he could be going into his surgery.

Relaxed was a loose term for what Jim was feeling these days. Yet, his son was strong, strong despite the sheer vulnerability that defined him of late.

He took advantage of the silence in his office and first sent two messages to rectify Rand’s decision. Then, he leafed through the file of the best match they had for Jim’s bodyguard. He’d read it several times over this morning, almost certain of his decision before the figure standing in front of his desk had even arrived.

Nonetheless, he’d approach this cautiously. It wouldn’t do to lay all his cards on the table before he even got a chance to try to get to know this man.

“It seems to me like you’re a little overqualified,” he murmured.

He placed the file on his desk and lifted his head to stare hard at the quiet, worn, soldier-like figure who’d refused to sit for the duration of the interview, including the most recent interruption, his conversation with McCoy. He took in the man’s battle scars—those littering his face, his arms, and his hands like remnants from the front lines—all of which added to his assassin-like aura. He was just as dangerous-looking as he was rumored to be. If looks could kill, his would. But he’d also heard that the President's young daughter adored him. Had wrapped him around her finger. It was rumored she’d even convinced him to have a tea party with her and her dolls one summer afternoon.

This man wasn’t the usual bodyguard he hired; he was older than McCoy by five years and hardened by life. But he was unique. A walking contradiction. He’d give him that much.

He wasn’t sure why, but he liked him.

“Maybe a lot,” he clarified, folding his hands on the desk.

Geoffrey M’Benga, Ben for short, didn't even blink. Not that he expected much of a reaction from the President’s children’s former bodyguard, a former medic, a former soldier. He’d heard of him numerous times over the years, each account coming from the same man who was following in Chris’s own footsteps and would one day take over his position once he retired. A man who was good friends with Ben, as he was with him, too. Relatively speaking, that was, given their line of work and the common inconsistency and difficulty that agents had with keeping in touch.

In as little as five days, he’d gathered enough information about Ben beyond the file to understand that this prospective bodyguard was a little short on emotion, even if he was overqualified.

But, more than that, that something must have happened to silence him, even before he’d found his way to work at the White House.

“It says here,” Chris continued, nodding his head towards the closed file, “that before you went to work at the White House, that you were accused of negligence, of abandoning your team in Uganda at a critical time. That the drug raid you’d planned for four years failed because you weren’t there with your team, but having the time of your life with two other women on the other side of the village, instead.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, the heavily grooved scars on the sides of face moving like a flowing river.

He prided himself in reading people pretty damn well. This reaction was all the proof he needed that Ben had not abandoned his team. He’d gathered as much after speaking with the White House’s head of security and using his own means to come up with a plausible explanation for Ben’s actions. It appeared that he was on the right track.

“I’m not sure I believe what it says here,” Chris said decisively. “I think that you were in too deep, got caught in the cross-fire. Maybe one of the women betrayed you, injecting you with the same dru—”

Ben’s nostrils flared, the simple action cutting him off.

“I see,” Chris said softly, deflating. He wouldn’t want to scare this man off. Jim needed someone who was as loyal as this man seemed to be. Someone wholly focused on the job—on Jim’s safety—and nothing else. “You’re innocent, and for reasons you're holding close to the vest, never told your superiors the truth. You’re protecting someone, aren't you?”

Ben stared straight ahead.

“Still, I’m not convinced you’re the right one for the job,” Chris said, tapping his fingers on his desk. “You’re good. But you’re overqualified. You protected the First Family for over a year. Jim is an actor, nothing more, nothing less. Why are you here, Ben? This isn’t a lucrative job like the one you previously had at the White House. How did our mutual friend sway you? What prompted you to even consider this job?”

As he fired out his questions, Ben lifted his chin, body tense and angled toward the door.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave, even if you don’t answer my questions,” Chris said with a sigh. “At least, not yet.”

Ben rolled his shoulders back, a fight-or-flight posture if he’d ever seen one.

Chris leaned forward and clasped his hands together, resting his weight on the desk. “You see, Jim is like a son to me,” he admitted quietly, glancing out the window. He wondered if Jim would even be up to meeting his new bodyguard later. “His safety is everything to me. I need to find someone who is utterly selfless because…”

 

He didn’t want to say more; they were keeping a tight lip about the tumor, the cancer that had invaded his son’s body. Even keeping it from prospective bodyguards. For Jim’s sake, they needed to maintain a low profile about this. For McCoy’s sake, too, even though he’d deny it. McCoy was in for another wake-up call. If he thought he was going to have it easy being Jim Kirk’s former-bodyguard-now-boyfriend, he was in for a surprise. He’d be in the limelight soon enough, just like Jim.

He’d have to find someone to protect McCoy, too, just to be on the safe side.

He blinked himself to attention when he turned his head and realized Ben had been closely watching him.

“Sorry about that,” Chris said with a small smile. “It’s easy to get a little...sidetracked these days.”

“Why?”

Startled at the low reply in a heavy, African accent, the first word Ben said since he’d arrived, his brows raised. “Why?” he repeated.

Ben nodded.

“Jim’s sick,” he explained vaguely. “Really sick.”

The other man blinked. “Is it ta’minal?”

He sucked in a breath. That was a damn good guess, and it was too late to hide his own reaction to it. “If the surgery…” He briefly closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nostrils. This was the last thing he wanted to discuss but obviously something that Ben had picked up on. “If they can't remove it...or the radiation doesn't work...yes.”

“I am sorry to hear this, I am,” Ben said softly. “You are his _baba_.”

“The only one he has now, yes,” Chris said and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m gratified to know that even after all the horrors you’ve seen and been through over the years, you’re sensitive to this, to what little you know about Jim’s situation. But I also need you to understand something. Other than Jim’s mother, his boyfriend, his personal assistant, and the medical staff, no one else knows about his diagnosis. There'll be a press conference at some point, but not now,” he said. “Jim’s life has been unsettling enough as it is. He doesn’t need more stress, though this process of hiring a new bodyguard, has the potential to upset things for him again. Especially if I hire you and, for some reason or another, he doesn’t warm up to you.”

Ben’s face turned impassive once more.

Chris wondered if Jim would even be lucid enough to understand who Ben was. And when he was, how would he react to this wordless, brooding man? He wasn't exactly a personable man, though he sensed he cared at the very heart.

“I want to hire you on a trial basis,” he asserted. “See if this job will work for the both of us like our mutual friend thinks it will.”

Ben nodded slowly.

“Good,” he said, sobering. “I honestly believe that unless I tell Jim you're there, he won’t even notice that you’re in the same room.”

Doubt filled Ben’s eyes.

“He won’t,” he repeated quietly. Without explaining any further, even about Jim’s blindness, he stood and walked around his desk to signal the conclusion of the interview. “I’ll draw up a contract, but in good faith, let’s shake on it. We don’t have too much time. I’d like for you to meet him before the day gets away from us.”

Ben held out his hand. The handshake was good and firm. Maybe a little too firm.

“Go easy on Jim,” Chris said, frowning.

“A wawning?” Ben asked.

“You could say that.”

“Tha’s more to Jim Ke’k than just a pretty face.”

“Yes,” he affirmed, but said nothing else.

Ben made a long, noncommittal sound in his throat. A lazy but warm hum that filled the room as the silence stretched, as if he’d sat down in the chair after all, with all the time in the world.

But he hadn’t. He remained standing, watching Chris with calculating eyes. “You a’withholding vital information that I need in o’da’ to make a proper decision.”

“I am,” Chris said with a nod, satisfied to finally see a taste of the no-nonsense nature he’d suspected that Ben had from the beginning. “Once you see him you’ll understand.”

And he'd know for certain if Ben was the right choice by his reaction alone.

He would not put Jim through another incident like they'd just had with Janice Rand, not if he could help it.

“ _Mimi tayari kuelewa_ ,” Ben said softly. “I am ready to meet your _mwana_.”

 

 

.  
.  
.  
.

 

 

About thirty minutes after his conversation with Chris, McCoy left Jim with the nurse, coming downstairs to check on the status of Jim’s lunch, hoping also that the new assistant would be knocking at the door at any moment. But then there was a chance they’d—Jim—would have a new bodyguard, too. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too many changes for Jim in one day. He'd had enough, already.

Winona stood over the stove, her humming light and soft, as if it was floating on the air coming in from the open window above the sink. It was beautiful, and Jim’s mother had actually never made anything beautiful in Jim’s life before. She’d mostly left him to his own devices at a young age, and when she’d been around, had paid more attention to the fame Jim had acquired as a child actor then the actual child himself.

It was a miracle that Jim and his mother were now friends, but something had happened to Winona to cause the change. That was a story neither he or Jim understood yet, or even knew, though they both expected it had something to do with Pike. But it didn’t matter. What mattered is this, that he could say now and for the very first time, that her presence made all the difference in Jim’s life.

Not McCoy. But Winona.

Jim had asked for her when he woke up; smiled when her hand touched his cheek; beamed when she made food for him, that he actually could eat, from scratch; and spoke to her with adoration in his voice.

Better yet was the authenticity he saw from Winona that Jim could not see with his own eyes.

He was a good judge of character and could not deny that Winona, in turn, beamed brighter than her son. He was happy for Jim, that he had not one or two but three people to love him and help him through this. Winona. Pike. McCoy.

He hated to close the window, essentially stopping her bright music. None of them had had much fresh air lately, but it was just inviting an incident. Even though security cameras surrounded the vicinity and they had one detective outside, he wouldn't take any chances.

This was the sort of thing he should’ve thought to tell Winona in the first place, but his mind had been on other things. Rather, on Jim. What Jim needed. When he had to take his medication next. Bathing him. Feeding him. Making him laugh. At the very least, making him comfortable enough that he wasn’t afraid to fall asleep, which was the most recent sign that Jim’s mind was playing tricks on him, succumbing to the medication and the tumor itself.

It had hurt Jim that he’d left those years ago, but so much worse could have happened if he'd stayed. He believed in his instincts, though his decision to leave had been more about himself.

Still, Jim was alive, wasn’t he? If he’d stayed, got wrapped up in his feelings, held them close to the vest in order to keep their friendship intact, there would have been a greater chance that Jim wouldn't have survived those two attempts on his life.

“It’s not safe to keep this open,” he said apologetically, shutting the window firmly with one hand and locking it.

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I should've thought of that.”

He shook his head, already looking in the fridge for a small protein drink for Jim. “Don’t be sorry. You’re not trained. I am.”

She turned from the stove and, resting her hand on his arm, peered up at him through her lashes. “I hear a little cynicism in your voice, McCoy.”

He scowled. “There are things I should be watching for—but that I’m missing.”

“Don’t blame yourself for anything that has happened.”

He sucked in a breath, lowering his arm. They’d already discussed the timing of Jim’s migraines. They’d begun the day he’d left.

Once he’d figured that out, he’d stared at nothing for thirty minutes. Maybe longer. He’d stooped even lower than he’d thought possible.

“Jim would have kept them hidden from us as much as possible, whether you’d been there or not,” she chided.

He nodded to pacify her, not wanting to argue when they had little energy or time to do so. He partially agreed at least. Jim never wanted to inconvenience anyone, even when he was feeling incredibly ill.

“Will the soup be ready soon?” he asked. “I can hear Jim’s stomach growling from here.”

She nodded. “My boy. When he’s hungry, he’s hungry. All I have to do is ladle this into the bowl and add an ice cube or two because I think it's a little too hot.”

“I’ll take it up when you’re done.”

“It might be awhile before he actually feels like eating again after the surgery, not that his appetite is what it was, anyway,” she said, glancing down at the pot with a strained smile. “So I made this as flavorful as possible. And with cheese. Just the way he likes it.”

“I’m sure he—”

The doorbell rang, the loud chime interrupting his response.

They glanced sideways at each other. “I’ll answer it,” he said.

He walked towards the front door, his nerves rising as he stopped to look at the live feed. Though the detective outside would have double and triple checked the identity of who was at the door, there was always a chance…

He frowned. Their visitor...was an unlikely one. Also someone who didn’t know Jim’s diagnosis.

He opened the door, a question on his tongue as to why she was here. But once they stood face to face, his words flew out the window.

 

 

It was Nyota. In black skinny jeans, t-shirt, and combat boots, looking nothing like the glamorous actress he was used to seeing. Granted, he never saw her without makeup, or in anything other than a dress, and she certainly never went anywhere without her loyal sidekick, Spock, but he wasn't used to seeing her so...free.

“Are you going to let me in or not?” Nyota asked with a quirk of her lips.

“What are you doing here?” He peered around her, hesitating. “And where's Spock?”

“Oh, he's taking care of a few things for me,” she said with a wave of her hand, slipping past him.

“Oh,” he said, shutting the door behind her.

That was unusual, for Nyota prided herself for her independence, but he was a little relieved to hear that she was alone. Sometimes Spock got on his nerves. The way he looked at everything like it was under a microscope, questioning Jim’s day-to-day activities, and his, as if he was doing McCoy's job. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, Spock and Jim, for the little time they’d had together to chat on the sets, got along so well. Like brothers.

He frowned, wondering if they'd become actual friends since he'd been away. Jim hadn't said anything. He'd been far too busy, then hit with this.

He quickly berated himself. He was too old to feel this shallow jealousy, wasn't he? He should be happy for Jim that he had another friend.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Nyota.

“Pike called me,” she said simply. “I’m here to fill some shoes.”

“You're the one who’ll take over Janice’s…” He shook his head as he thought of the mile-long to-do list Rand had left. “No. You have no experience. Jim’s schedule is full, Ny. And some of the people you have to talk to—”

“—I was trained in my previous job—”

“—Before acting?” he interjected doubtfully.

She smiled confidently. “Yes. Trained to be versatile. I have experience, trust me.”

“I don’t have much choice,” he muttered, raking his hand through his hair. “But don’t you have things you need to do?”

“My schedule is cleared.”

“How did you manage that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Though her first role had actually been a walk-on five years ago, and the second and third small parts in movies Jim had been in, in the most recent film she’d had a supporting role that had rivaled Jim’s leading act. Her calendar should be just as full as Jim’s, if not more.

“Nyota,” Winona said warmly before she could answer.

Nyota turned and smiled at Jim’s mom. “Mrs. Kirk.”

“Call me Winona.” She embraced her as if she’d expected to see her all along. “I must confess that I’m glad you’re here. I respect Jim’s wish for privacy, but he needs another friend who knows what he’s going through. And you, my dear, have always been a friend to my son.”

“He is like a brother to me,” Nyota said, eyes full of tender concern.

“I can see that,” Winona said, smiling. “Oh, Leonard, his food is ready and on the table.”

“He’s upstairs?” Nyota asked softly as they entered the kitchen area.

Winona nodded. “With the private nurse we hired as we wait a few extra days for surgery. The surgeon we’d spoken with before was on vacation, but he’ll be back today.”

“Good,” Nyota breathed. “I don’t think waiting for this surgery any longer than necessary is a good idea. How’s he doing?”

“What did Pike tell you?” McCoy said and, eyeing the beautifully prepared tray waiting on the table, picked it up.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Winona said, hesitating. “But I have one more thing to explain to Leonard.”

“It's fine,” Nyota said, smiling.

Winona looked relieved. “Tell Jim it’s okay to make a little mess when he eats, it just means that he’s getting some food in his stomach,” she chided like a mother would. “And tell him that I’m making his favorite—chocolate pudding—for later.”

“I will,” McCoy said, happy to be the one to tell him news that would most likely make his evening. Jim Kirk and his chocolate? You couldn’t get between them. “Thank you, Winona.”

Nyota followed him up the stairs. “I know he had a seizure, that he’s partially paralyzed on his left side.”

“He can’t talk well, Ny,” McCoy said bluntly. “I can hardly understand him, myself.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I have much younger siblings. I’ve worked with the elderly after strokes. I’ll understand him.”

He slowed and approached Jim’s room almost reverently. It was something he’d almost immediately gotten in the habit of doing. Breathing deeply a few times. Calming himself before he even entered. Anything to keep Jim’s stress level down.

Nyota followed suit without commenting.

“My hands are a little full,” McCoy said with a small smile. “Will you knock?”

“Sure.” Nyota knocked softly.

After a second, she turned the doorknob and opened the door —revealing a young man, lying on his back but partially propped up by pillows.

And he was still the most beautiful of all.

“I brought your dinner, Jim,” McCoy said, stepping inside.

“Here,” the nurse said softly. “Let me take this tray while you help him get settled to eat.”

He handed her the tray and came to the side of the bed, fluffing another pillow to put behind Jim’s back.

“Nnnszz?” Jim asked.

“The one and only,” he said brightly, caressing his cheek. Jim closed his eyes, a lopsided smile growing on his face. “Can’t get rid of me now, you know. I like your mom’s chocolate pudding more than you do.”

Jim’s faint laugh sounded more like a wheeze that hurt. McCoy winced.

“You don’t think so?” McCoy jested softly.

Jim shook his head.

“Then, I challenge you to a...chocolate pudding eating contest.”

Nyota tsked. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Nyyaah?” Jim asked, his face scrunching up. He blinked slowly, his right eye darting around as if searching for her, but the left sluggish and not moving at all.

Nyota raised a hand to her mouth, eyes stricken as she realized the seizure had, indeed, caused some paralysis.

“What I mean is,” McCoy said, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. “We’ll have a messy chocolate pudding eating contest, which I’m sure you’ll win, anyway,” he muttered. “Why should I even bother?”

Jim snorted, now distracted from Nyota’s presence. “...ngh...myyah...shhh...rr.”

“I can have your share?” McCoy hummed and kissed Jim’s cheek. “I’d love to have your share, but you need it, Jim. To keep up your strength.”

An expression resembling a grimace crossed Jim’s face.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, sitting down beside him. “It’s dinner time. I know it’s not your favorite thing right now, but it’s the most important thing that you can do to beat this, alright?”

Jim’s eyes glistened.

“Hey,” McCoy said softly. “I won’t force you, but while you still have somewhat of an appetite, we need to kick this bowl of soup your mom made especially for you. With cheese. Smell that? That’s a pound of cheese.”

A dreamy look passed over Jim’s face. “Kuh...id.”

“She did say she made this for you when you were little,” McCoy said, helping the nurse guide the tray over Jim’s lap. He tucked the large napkin under Jim’s chin, pulling down the sheet covering him to save it from future mishaps.

Jim nodded.

“If there’s any left downstairs, can we share with Ny?” McCoy asked.

Jim nodded again.

“Good, She’s your new assistant, you know,” McCoy announced, preparing Jim’s first bite. “Wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

Jim’s features froze. “‘Nyahh…craz-zee.”

She grasped his hand, gently squeezing it. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s not too much for me. Do you remember earlier this year, when I said that I’d had an important job before I began acting?’

Jim paused. “Yusss.”

“And I learned to be...adaptable?”

He blinked slowly.

“Turns out, that training is going to come in handy,” she said. “I already spoke with a few others that work for you, and we are going to have your back, Jim. I promise.”

His brow furrowed crookedly. “Spuh...sspu…” He grunted, face twisting into a fiercer grimace with each passing second. “ _Fyugh_.”

The garbled expletive was all that McCoy needed to hear to know that Jim wouldn’t make any progress if he was upset with himself like this. He covered Jim’s other hand with his warm one.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Don’t be too hard on yourself right now. We know what you’re sayin’.”

“Spock would be here, Jim,” Nyota began, “but he has a few things he needs to take care of. He sends his love.”

McCoy sighed exasperatedly. “Love?” he repeated. “Really, Spock? Really?”

Jim’s mouth twitched at the right corner.

Nyota laughed. “Okay, so he sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here. I just said that to see what you’d do.”

“Of course ya did. And he put you up to it, too, I bet. There's only one person loving Jim in here,” McCoy grumbled. “And that person...is...that person's...well…”

He flushed, his voice dwindling to nothing as he realized he'd nearly said the same words he'd felt in his heart but wasn't sure he had a right to say.

Jim’s face relaxed, morphing into a downright ornery look once he realized what he was actually declaring.

And Ny...she looked like a cat who'd caught the canary.

Oh, shit.

It was there in the silence but he backpedaled, anyway.

“All of us,” he said hastily instead.

“Uh-huh,” Nyota said, quirking a brow. “Right.”

McCoy cleared his throat. “All of us,” he repeated firmly, lifting the spoonful of soup to Jim’s lips. “Here, Darlin’. We’re in no hurry. Take your ti—”

Jim’s eyes were wet and glistening with unshed tears, his mouth shut against the metal warmth of the spoon.

McCoy hesitated. “Jim?”

Jim took a shaking breath. “Iff...I donch m-mugh… _it._..eye... _lofff_...yuu.”

The spoon dropped from McCoy’s hand and clattered into the bowl. He pressed his forehead against Jim’s, willing him to listen to his every word.

“You're gonna make it,” he whispered fervently. “Because it's what you do. You're resilient and beautiful and goddamit, Jim, you're gonna make it so you can continue loving whoever you want. Even if it's...if it's…Spock.”

A noise sounded from Jim’s throat.

“But, dammit Jim, it better be me,” he muttered without thinking.

Christ. He was a complete and utter idiot where this man was concerned.

Jim’s right shoulder began to shake.

When he pulled away in resignation, there was no denying the laughter in Jim’s crooked expression.

“You should just hear yourself,” Nyota said, laughing lightly.

McCoy didn't care. Didn't mind.

Maybe he _was_ a fool.

Jim’s happiness was precious to him. Meant more to him than anything. If he was nearing the end, if these were their last days together, he really was an idiot not to say it now. He'd never forgive himself for not being truthful when he'd actually had the chance to do so. What had been his purpose in deciding to wait? He'd already had his practice run that night Jim had fallen asleep.

He leaned in and whispered in his ear the words for him and only him.

“I love you, Darlin’,” he murmured, an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to the bare, open spot of his neck. Making him wonder about Winona’s words the other night, about Jim’s experiences. His gut feeling told him that Jim had never known this type of love before. It made this love that he felt for him more beautiful, more...intoxicating. He could never get enough. “And I will never be ashamed of it.”

Jim clung back with his meager strength.

Maybe he was a fool. But he was a fool for Jim.

There was no better thing.

 

 

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Chris wasn’t sure how long they stood in the doorway after the nurse left to catch some sleep in her room down the hall and after Nyota went downstairs to make a few calls.

He took his cues from Ben, who did nothing but silently watch McCoy patiently feed Jim. More slid down Jim’s chin than went into his mouth, and once or twice, maybe three times, he coughed up more than just soup. It was not a picturesque scene in the least, especially when food sputtered from Jim’s mouth on the last bite, his body reacting uncontrollably, twitching erratically.

McCoy didn’t even flinch when soup landed on his cheek.

Chris held his breath, praying it wasn’t a seizure.

Jim’s body shuddered, his left side still odd and drooping, the right side of his face revealing nothing except that he was far too tired to even be eating.

“It’s a good thing,” McCoy murmured, focusing on his face, dabbing at his cheek with a cloth. “That I like to do laundry.”

“‘T-t’rd,” Jim slurred.

“I know, Jim. I know,” McCoy said softly. “And I won’t bother you anymore, I promise. I’ll tell your mom you were too tired to eat anything else. You can sleep.”

Jim’s right eye widened, his expression now panicked. “Nooo…’nezz.”

McCoy leaned forward, his fingers stroking his cheek. “Do you remember what we talked about? You have nothing to fear. I’ll be right here. I have a cot and a blanket to your right. You’ll get this bed all to yourself, without anyone botherin’ ya.”

“Prom’ss?” Jim blinked slowly. “S-s-tay?”

“I promise,” McCoy said softly.

Jim’s fingers entangled with his, a sure sign of their growing intimacy. After a brief moment, Jim’s eyes finally fluttered shut.

McCoy sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Chris had been certain McCoy had known they were there in the doorway, but as he watched the man let down his guard, the emotion steadily rising on his face, he now doubted his previous observation.

His heart broke for both Jim and McCoy, and even Winona, a woman who’d only begun wearing her emotions on her sleeve and who could not deny that she, too, had a heart that could break.

He had only the greatest hope for the outcome of Jim’s surgery, but the raw truth was that anything could happen. Jim was not out of the woods. He had just begun this journey. And just as sure as he’d begun, his loved ones were traveling it with him.

McCoy leaned over and kissed Jim’s forehead, tension filling the lines of his shoulders, his back, and face.

“ _Kanzi_ ,” Ben suddenly whispered.

Chris stilled, holding his breath. Ben spoke minimally, but when he did, you better be damn sure you were listening.

“It is only right,” Ben said a little louder, now nodding. “I stay for your _mwanza_. Like him, I promise to stay. For your _Kanzi_ , for his _Kanzi_ , the one and the same, I stay.”

 

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Once Jim’s breathing had evened out and he was sure he was fast asleep, McCoy adjusted the knit hat on Jim’s head with the greatest of care, took all but one pillow out from under his head, also pausing to check for a temperature with the back of his hand across his forehead. Satisfied that it wasn’t warm enough to indicate a fever, he picked up the tray of food and set it on a table in the corner.

And finally glanced back at their visitors.

“You could’ve come in,” he said throwing Ben a guarded look.

He had to be the guard Chris was considering. With just a cursory look, McCoy could see that he, whoever he was, had fought some battles of his own. Probably wouldn’t back down from a fight, which was, in his opinion a good thing. Part of him resented that he wasn’t in the loop, helping Chris choose someone to replace him, but he did trust the older man to find the best replacement.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Chris explained softly. “He gets such little rest as it is.”

McCoy ran his hands over his face. That was an understatement.

“You’re right about that,” he said resignedly. “Between his spasms and the anxiety, the general discomfort that he’s feeling, he’s a light sleeper. We should take this conversation elsewhere.”

“I’d suggest the balcony, but it’s not safe.”

He sat down in a chair and looked up at Chris. “Who is Nyota?”

“An actress.”

“She’s not an actress.” McCoy paused, considering Nyota’s questions, her ease with Jim, with the new position she was taking. “She’s more.”

Chris was quiet.

“Alright,” McCoy said in a low voice. “You won’t tell me. Will you tell _him_?” He looked pointedly at the stranger.

Chris exchanged a look with the man beside him. “Allow me to introduce you. Leonard, this is Ben, Jim’s new bodyguard. Ben, Doctor Leonard McCoy, Jim’s _former_ guard.”

Ben’s eyes flickered over McCoy.

Seeing the question in his eyes, McCoy explained. “Got too close,” he said. “I can’t protect him when I care about his...his heart.”

Ben turned his head, glancing back at Jim then down at him. “Ah, _mimi kuelewa_. I will protect ‘im with my life,” he said slowly.

A figure rushed through the door, breathless.

McCoy jumped to his feet. “Nyota?”

She wasn’t looking at him. “Chris, they spotted a suspicious-looking man about a dozen yards away from this property.”

Chris cursed under his breath.

“He’s carrying what appears to be a rifle.”

Chris’s face turned to stone as he stepped towards her. “Uhura, stay up here with Jim and Ben. I’ll go downstairs and inform Winona.”

His stomach churned. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Chris said firmly. “Trust me, McCoy. Listen to Uhura, to Ben.”

“Wait, Chris—”

Chris shook his head as he walked to the door. “McCoy, not now. At this point you’re a civilian, not my employee, and I’ll protect you just as I would Jim.”

“By telling me nothing?” he protested.

“If I have to,” Chris said before he disappeared around the corner.

By the time McCoy returned his attention to the others in the room, Nyota was peering out the window, checking the lock to the door of the balcony.

He met her there, blocking her in the corner. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

Face pinched, her eyes roamed the surroundings beyond the glass. “I’ll tell you, but not now.”

“Is Jim safe here?”

“Chris has others outside,” she murmured. “We’re looking for whoever’s out there, Len.”

“Is Jim safe here?” he gritted out.

He had a sinking feeling that Jim’s own house wasn’t the fortress they’d thought it was.

Nyota glanced sharply at him. “As long as—”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes lowering.

“What?” He looked down at himself.

At the red, glowing dot perfectly centered on his chest.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“Get down!”

But he couldn't move.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was Nyota.

Her eyes flickering with determination, with the ferociousness of an agent, as she lunged towards him like a panther.

 

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Something woke him up.

A crash.

A shout.

A premonition.

Startled, the part of his body that could move jerked wildly on the bed. It was painful. Uncomfortable. His head, especially. He felt like he was slipping away from himself, trapped in his own body. He didn’t belong in this shell, a shadow of what he used to be.

“ _Chris, McCoy’s been shot. We need a medical team.”_

_“Let me. I am medic.”_

He couldn’t catch his breath. He felt heavy, but his heart raced with dread.

Shot? Bones?

He heard Ny. Another voice, a deep foreign voice that he didn’t recognize.

He tried to move his mouth, but he couldn’t make a sound. Just like his eyes, his mouth wouldn’t work.

Darkness.

“ _Leonard? Can you hear me?”_

Darkness. Darkness everywhere.

“ _Press here, Nyota.”_

And now...terror.

“ _Leonard!”_

“ _The bullet went through…”_

No. Bones was hurt. Bones…

“ _Leonard? Look at me.”_

_“It missed his heart.”_

He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, or what he could of his teeth, together. If he could get off of the bed, maybe he could get closer. Even if he was on the ground. He could find Bones.

“ _Thank God…”_

_“But he is losing...losing blood. Too much.”_

_“You’re gonna make it, McCoy, you hear me?”_ someone cried. “ _Jim needs you!”_

_“Your Kanzi is awake.”_

Kanzi? What was a kanzi?

He moved an inch. Maybe more.

“ _I’ll watch over McCoy...They will be here soon. Go to him, Ben.”_

 

Go.

That was what Jim had to do. He had to get to Bones.

To touch him.

Feel him.

See him with...with his touch. His hands. Make sure he was okay.

Bones.

“Nneszzz.”

His heart thumped wildly as he neared the edge.

“ _Hold here! I must see to him.”_

He felt himself rolling off—

Arms caught him in the air. “ _Kanzi! Unafanya nini? Unaenda wapi?”_

The strange voice startled him. But didn’t frighten. It was warm, the unknown words washing over him like a blanket.

“Nneszz,” he said urgently.

“Ah, but he is strong. He will fight. He will live, your Bones.”

He tried to move his neck to turn his head towards Bones, as if his eyes would be able to see him, but the man’s arms held him fast.

He will live? How did he know? How? _How?_

If Bones had been shot, would he die?

Bones.

Shot.

_Someone moaned._

Bleeding out…

No, no. This couldn’t be happening. He could die and it would be all his fault.

That shot had been meant for him. The assassin had missed. Had erred to begin with. What he hadn’t known was that this tumor could kill him, anyway. Trying to kill him was...unnecessary. Shooting Bones was unnecessary. If he’d known, he wouldn't have even bothered.

It was Jim’s fault. He was too private. If they’d just known about his cancer...they could have let nature take its course. Not used guns.

“Myyy...faghld…”

“It is not your fault, _Kanzi_ ,” the man’s low voice filled his ears and they were...moving. The air was cool on his head. He must have lost his hat in his efforts to get to Bones. “It is the doing of _mabaya_ , of selfish men.”

Moving away from Bones.

No. “‘agh. Taghe m-me buh‘aghk.”

He wanted to cry. For Bones. For the words he could not say correctly. For the future he’d thought that they’d have.

“I cannot, _Kanzi_ ,” the man said softly. A door creaked. “It is not safe. Your _baba_ wants you to be safe.”

“Pluhssz.”

“No, _Kanzi_.”

Helpless to stop this man he couldn’t see, and knowing that he was right—that it wasn't safe, that he was useless to the man he loved—he curled within himself, his head resting against the stranger’s chest.

Guilt weighed down every thought.

 

_Bones should have—_

He wouldn't cry.

He wouldn't.

— _should have stayed away. Far, far away from Jim._

Not even when the sounds behind him stopped.

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Warning: some violence depicted, non-graphic. 
> 
> Glossary/Swahaili-English
> 
> Mimi tayari kuelewa - I already understand.
> 
> Mimi kuelewa - I understand.
> 
> mwana - son
> 
> baba - father
> 
> mabaya - evil
> 
> Kanzi - (hidden) treasure; used as a term of endearment here for the purpose of this story (from what I researched this can be used as an endearment for male/female but it's also used as a girl’s name, too)
> 
> Unaenda wapi? - Where are you going?
> 
> Unafanya nini? - What are you doing?
> 
>  
> 
> I know it's mean to leave it there...really mean...please forgive me! But, you can expect another part to the series in the future. Thank you, Diamondblue4 and Junker5, for your diligence and care betaing this piece. Your words make such a difference! *HUGS* Also many thanks to Xiiva, who pointed me in the right direction for writing M'Benga's accent. I really wanted to get that across without taking a misstep in the process. Hopefully, my efforts succeeded. I have never written a thicker accent in a story before! Hence, my anxiousness for getting it right. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please, review? :)


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